


Banishing Shadows

by dbw



Series: Here Be Dragons [2]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Gen, Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-20
Updated: 2009-11-19
Packaged: 2017-10-03 10:33:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dbw/pseuds/dbw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"There are two ways of spreading light: to be the candle or the mirror that reflects it." -- Edith Wharton</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted May 2003

The wolf ran through the woods, drawing ever closer to the Light that beckoned him on. The Light ahead promised a surcease to the pain in his heart and a healing of his wounds. It banished the shadows and offered solace to his soul. Part of him craved these things, while another part mourned what he left behind, what could never be.

A soft sound from behind made him slow and flick an ear back to listen. He shook his head and surged forward only to stumble when it came again. It was the sound of a soul caught in distress so similar to his own that it resonated within him, making him falter in his quest for the Light. Who, other than him, could be in such pain? Surely the powers that had brought him to this place wouldn't allow it to continue? The cry sounded again, closer and louder than before, and he stopped. His head swung back and forth and he whimpered in confusion. The Light called to him, but the cry tore at his heart and couldn't be ignored.

_"Don't you go!"_

The words held no meaning, but the raw despair in the tone resounded deep within him. He took one last regretful glance at the Light and then turned away. Loping towards him in a ground eating stride was a great black jaguar, his magnificent golden eyes filled with pain and longing and love. The wolf's heart beat faster. This was where he should be; this was his destiny. Joyfully he ran for the big cat, muscles coiling as he prepared to leap. The two animal spirits merged with an incandescent flash as their souls returned to the physical plane. Neither had noticed the darkness that slithered towards them from the trees. They wouldn't have remarked on it nor been surprised to see it, even if they had noticed. For how can there be Light without the Shadows that It casts?


	2. Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "There are two ways of spreading light: to be the candle or the mirror that reflects it." -- Edith Wharton

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted May 2003

_Darkness and pain. Terror and suffering. Hatred and anger, fierce and sharp as the bright steel that flashed silver and red in the moonlight, plunging again and again and again._

Blair woke gasping for breath and shuddering in the dark as he fumbled for the lamp on the little bedside table. He blinked at the sudden glare, but the light failed to dislodge his heart pounding fear. He scanned the corners of his room, searching for whatever it was that had scared him so badly. Of course, there wasn't anything there; just like there hadn't been anything there the last two nights that he'd woken awash in fear.

He glanced at the clock. Two-thirty in the morning. Good thing Jim wasn't home or he'd be awake and downstairs, probably packing a gun and seeking out an intruder. It was just a nightmare, so why couldn't he stop shaking?

Going back to sleep was definitely out of the question. The walls of his tiny room pressed in on him, accentuating the mindless terror that gripped him. His chest hurt with the effort it took to breathe as he pushed aside the covers and slowly eased his way out to the living room, turning on each light with a shaking hand as he passed. The loft was well lit by the time he wedged himself into a corner of the couch, the soft blanket that normally lived on its back tucked carefully around him and snugged up to his neck.

Jim had been on a stakeout for the last three nights, helping out a colleague on a long-term assignment who needed a break. It might have only been three nights, but it felt like a lifetime to Blair. Jim had insisted that he stay home and get some rest; that it was unlikely for there to be any movement on the case in the few days that he was assigned to it. He'd reluctantly agreed, making a feeble joke about having some peace and quiet around the loft for a change. Unfortunately, it hadn't quite worked out that way.

Nightmares had plagued Blair for the past three nights. Each time he'd awoken he'd been unable to remember the details of his dreams, but had been left with a fear of the dark so overwhelming that he'd turned on all of the lights and huddled on the couch waiting for the sun to rise. God, he was pathetic. It was just a friggin' nightmare, for crying out loud. He should turn out the lights and go back to bed. Only, the thought of being alone in the dark made his heart race and brought about a return of the shakes.

If he could just get a handle on the cause of his nightmares, maybe he could banish them for good. Once daylight came the nightmares always faded into insubstantial memories that allowed him to convince himself that he was overreacting - until the next night when they returned in full force. He'd always been able to remember what he'd dreamed before, so why not now? It wasn't as though nightmares were foreign to him. The things he'd seen and experienced since working with Jim had definitely become part of his dreamscape. Visions of David Lash and beings made of fire and ash haunted him even now, but when they came to him he was somehow always cognizant that he was dreaming.

Not being able to remember was terrifying. All that he was left with was the horrid feeling that something malevolent lurked in the darkness, waiting for him, and that only the light kept it at bay. Why was this happening now? Things had been quiet for the last couple of weeks at the Station. There really wasn't any reason for him to have nightmares. Well, unless the fountain counted as a reason.

They'd never talked about the incident at the fountain. He shook his head. Incident. Even in his own thoughts he shied from thinking it straight out. He'd died. He'd fucking died that morning and his Sentinel couldn't bring himself to talk about it. So Blair had tried hard to respect Jim's unspoken wishes and pushed his own needs aside. The problem was, the memories of just what had happened that day had gradually dimmed until all that remained was a hazy recollection. Blair had the uneasy feeling that it was important for them both to acknowledge and understand what had occurred, and yet, all he could remember now was that he'd died and that Jim had somehow managed to bring him back. The details were fading.

He knew that he hadn't been exactly easy to live with lately. His relationship with Jim had taken some major hits in the last few months and they were both feeling the fallout. He'd made some serious mistakes, from the way he'd acted about the introductory chapter to his dissertation to the way he'd handled everything about Alex Barnes. But damn it, Jim hadn't been entirely blameless either.

He sighed. Rehashing the past was not conducive to getting back to sleep in the here and now. He couldn't change the past. All he could do was try to make things better. God, he was tired. If he could just get a decent night's sleep, maybe he'd be able to figure out what was wrong, but again the thought of turning out the lights and going back to bed made him shiver. No, he'd just wait out the night on the couch. When the sun came up, he'd turn out the lights and crash on his futon for a couple of hours until Jim came home. No need to bother his friend with his nightmares. Tonight was Jim's last night on stakeout and then he'd be home at night again. And, after all, it wasn't like there was anything Jim could do to help him.

He'd get through this, whatever it was. He had to. There was no other choice. Besides, it was just a nightmare. He thought he caught a slight motion out of the corner of his eye and he raised his head, heart pounding. Was there something in the shadows near the far corner of the room? No, no, there was nothing there. Nothing but the shadow. His mouth went dry as he stared transfixed at the darkness that lurked in the corner. It couldn't have moved, could it? It was just a shadow, that's all, but he supposed he could keep an eye on it while he waited for morning to come.

Blair started to nod off more than once in the hours that followed, only to jolt awake. Each time he was positive that the shadow had moved, that it was bigger and darker than before. Surely it was only his imagination that the shadow was creeping across the floor as if searching for him, only to shrink back into the corner when he woke - wasn't it? He shivered as dawn entered the loft, the pink tinted light warming everything but his soul. The darkness he felt wasn't so easily banished that morning and he stayed put, willing to endure a lecture about wasteful habits when Jim got home rather than risk being swallowed by the shadows that remained.

 

~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~

 

Jim glanced at Blair, seated next to him on the bench seat of his truck, and stifled a sigh. They'd been back from Sierra Verde for almost a month and yet Jim was still unsure how to treat the kid. The feeling seemed to be mutual since they'd both been walking around each other as if stepping on eggshells. This had to stop, but Jim was damned if he knew what to do. He'd royally screwed up during the fiasco with Alex Barnes. He knew it. Blair knew it. Hell, even Simon and Connor knew it. So why couldn't he admit it to Blair?

That was the crux of the problem right there, he knew. Blair had been right on the money when he'd talked about Jim's fear-based responses in that twice-damned introduction to his dissertation. Jim _was_ afraid. Strike that, he was terrified. And just what was it that had him so tied up in knots? Silently, he ticked off a list on mental fingertips.

There was the fear of Blair completing his dissertation and saying _'sayonara, it's been fun, man, but I'm off to Borneo on my next adventure.'_ There was the fear of telling Blair that he was sorry about what happened with Alex and having Blair tell him that he couldn't forgive him, and then saying _'see you around, man, I'm outta here.'_ And then there was the fear of telling Blair that he needed him more than he'd ever needed anyone in his life and Blair saying he couldn't deal with that, and oh, by the way, _'I am so out of here, man.'_ Guess when it came right down to it, there was only one thing he feared after all, and that was Blair leaving him.

This last crime scene hadn't exactly been an incentive for Blair to stick around. It was one of the worst that Jim had ever seen, certainly worse than anything his partner had been exposed to in the two and a half years he'd been riding with him and that was saying something. His hands tightened on the steering wheel as he recalled the horror they'd just left behind.

 

~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~

 

Jim pulled up to the curb and flicked off the lights, but made no move to leave the truck. He was tired after three straight nights on stakeout and now he had to deal with a murder. He could already smell the heavy scent of blood coming from the house and that coupled with the pale faces of the uniformed officers on the scene warned him that this was a bad one. He turned, intending to tell Blair to stay outside, but the determined expression on his partner's face silenced him. When Blair murmured to him to _'dial it down, Jim - way down until we know just how bad it is,'_ he merely nodded.

Jim entered the house first, the heat of Blair's hand burning like a brand at the small of his back, centering and grounding him. Even so, his first thought as he halted in the doorway of the small bedroom was to rush Blair out of there and take him as far away as he could. Away from the evil that he could feel clinging like a shroud in the cold room. The warmth at his back slowly moved upward, soothing and easing the tension in his shoulders, and then, just as slowly, slid back down to its original position. He mentally shook himself and stepped through the doorway into hell.

Splashes of crimson marred the pristine white of the walls, as if someone had taken a bucket full of blood and flung it around the small empty room. Blood congealed in small pools on the carpet, like thick pockets of dark red crude oil on a surreal landscape of sculptured tan wool. More than one hardened veteran stumbled out the door to lose the contents of his stomach in the bushes after getting a glimpse of the remains in the middle of the room.

The victim was nude and at first glance Jim assumed that she'd died of knife wounds, though she hadn't just been stabbed to death; she'd been flayed and eviscerated. Gutted from just under her chin to her pelvis; her organs had been ripped out and tossed around the room as if in afterthought. Skin hung in grotesque ribbons from her torso, arms and legs; toes and fingers were broken or sawed off. Her long hair spilled across the floor like a dark cloud. Yet, with the exception of a few small splatters of blood on her cheek, her face was untouched, her last expression strangely serene. Jim gazed at the pale face and a small, horrified corner of his mind clinically noted that she had once been very pretty. Now she was just another corpse.

He tried to examine the room with his senses, but there was too much blood and gore to be able to filter scents properly. An overwhelming, sweet coppery stench permeated everything. The moment Jim tried to dial up his sense of smell, he choked and had to fight to keep down the bile rising in his throat. When he opened up his vision, the room began to writhe and pulse around him as if alive. Vivid colors that seemed to expand and contract like some weird psychedelic kaleidoscope stabbed into his skull like a physical presence, leaving him trembling in reaction. He quickly dialed everything back down as low as he could manage and yet still function.

As his control returned, he became aware of his partner's warmth pressed closely against his back, his body shaking and his face buried in the expanse between Jim's shoulder blades. Concern for Blair overrode his need to investigate further and he turned, taking him in his arms and easing them both from the room. By the time they reached the outside door, they were walking side by side, though Jim left a comforting hand resting on Blair's shoulder. The only question was, which one of them needed the comfort more?

He maneuvered his partner to the truck and helped him climb into the cab. He placed a gentle hand on a too pale cheek and turned Blair's face so he could look at him. The normally expressive blue eyes were wide and glassy with shock, pupils contracted to a pinpoint. Jim sighed and lightly caressed Blair's cheek before reluctantly removing his hand. He shut the door and slowly turned away to walk across the lawn towards the house.

Simon had arrived while they were inside and had waited to examine the scene until after they'd exited. He stumbled out of the house now, his dark face gray and drawn.

"My God, Jim."

The whispered words were as loud as a shout to the Sentinel and he realized with a start that neither he nor Blair had uttered a single word since they'd first arrived. He nodded at Simon in understanding.

"Were you able to get anything in there?"

"No, Sir," he said regretfully and rubbed the back of his neck. "Too much blood. When I tried to use my senses, well, I almost lost it."

"What kind of monster could do that?" Simon swiped his hand over his face.

"I don't know." Jim hesitated for a moment.

Simon frowned. "What? If you've got something, Jim, I want to hear it."

"Do you? Even if it has to do with the Sentinel thing? Besides, I don't know if it means anything or not."

"Jim--"

"Look, Simon, you've never wanted to hear any of the really weird shit before, but I do experience these things. And ever since Sierra Verde...." He closed his mouth, unwilling to speak of his experiences in the Temple of the Sentinels.

"Jim." Simon held up his hand. "You're right. I guess I don't usually want to hear about this stuff, but I _will_ listen to what you've got to say and I'll try to keep an open mind."

He took a deep breath. "I felt something while I was in there, Simon. I don't know how to describe it except to say that whatever it was, it was evil."

"Evil." Simon raised both eyebrows. "That's it? Hell, I could have told you that whoever did that was evil."

He shook his head. "Not whoever did it, Simon. I'm talking about sensing, I don't know, a kind of presence or something in that room. I don't know what else to call it."

Simon sighed. "Okay, look, I believe that you sensed something. And that it felt evil. But, man, be reasonable. How does that help us? I can't arrest an 'evil presence.' Hell, I can't even talk about it with anyone except you and Sandburg if I don't want to be laughed off the Force!"

Jim's shoulders slumped. "I know, Simon. Don't you think I know how crazy it sounds? I guess I'm just trying to say that I think there may be more at work here than just our standard psycho."

"Just our standard psycho. Did you hear yourself?" Simon rolled his eyes. "I know I said I'd keep an open mind, Jim, but right now I need you to concentrate on doing solid detective work. Leave the mystical mumbo jumbo for the kid. Speaking of which, how's Sandburg doing?" He gazed at the figure huddled in the truck.

Jim sighed. "You saw how bad it was, Sir. How do you think he's doing?"

"You took him in there?"

"Do you really think he gave me a choice? To tell you the truth, I'm not sure I would've been able to maintain any control over my senses if he hadn't been in there with me. I just wish I could keep him away from things like that."

Simon gave Jim a piercing look. "And I'd be happier if this kind of thing never happened at all. This is the fourth similar murder in the last two weeks, each one messier than the last. Homicide's been able to keep a lid on the details getting out to the press, but they haven't made much headway in finding the killer. Captain Tarnahan isn't going to be happy relinquishing the case, but the Chief gave the orders to kick it up to Major Crime."

"Who had it in Homicide?"

"Rice and McDonald."

"They're good detectives, Simon. If the other murders were anything like this, I'm sure they'll welcome the help."

"All right, Jim. I'll turn Forensics loose and we'll see what they come up with. I've got Rafe and Brown out canvassing the neighborhood and I'll talk to Tarnahan and get the reports from the first three murders. Why don't you take Sandburg home and then head on back to the Station. The four of us can meet up back there and start going over everything." He shook his head and turned away to speak to one of the uniformed officers guarding the scene.

Jim climbed in behind the wheel of the truck, started the engine and pulled away from the curb. A few minutes later they were well on their way to the loft and he risked a glance at his partner. Blair's eyes were closed and a sensory check told Jim that his heart rate was calm and his breathing was normal. Hoping that Blair was asleep and fearing that he wasn't, Jim left him to his privacy. Just as he'd been doing for the last four weeks.

 

~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~

 

Jim turned the truck onto Prospect Avenue and eased into a parking spot in front of number 852. Blair seemed oblivious to the fact that the truck had stopped. Maybe he really was asleep. Jim shrugged as he got out and then walked around the truck to open the passenger door.

"Chief?" he said softly as he gently shook Blair's shoulder.

When there was no response, Jim reached out and cupped his chin and turned his face towards him. He was shocked to find Blair's eyes open and even more shocked to see that they were fully dilated, the black of his pupils expanded until only a slender rim of blue was visible. His skin was cold and clammy and he seemed unaware of his surroundings.

"It's here. My fault." The flat tone of his voice sent a shiver down Jim's spine.

"Blair? What's going on, buddy? What's here?"

He didn't answer. Suddenly his eyes rolled back and he began to shake violently. Jim quickly unsnapped the seat belt and held him close, trying to prevent him from hurting himself, praying that he wasn't having some sort of seizure. The shaking stopped as suddenly as it had started and Blair collapsed in his arms.

Jim eased Blair's limp body against his chest and tapped lightly on his cheek in an effort to rouse him. Nothing seemed to work and a lump of fear lodged in Jim's throat. "Come on, Chief," he murmured. "Don't do this to me."

Shaking his head in resignation, he slipped an arm under his partner's knees and another around his back and lifted. He groaned softly. "Damn, Sandburg, you may be shorter than me, but you've got some muscle on you."

Thankfully the elevator was working, so he stepped inside and pushed the button for the third floor. He let Blair's feet slide to the floor, holding him propped against the wall until the elevator stopped and then he lifted him again for the short walk down the hall. Once inside the loft, he lowered Blair to the couch, but even that movement failed to wake him. Jim's senses told him that his partner wasn't in any imminent danger; his heart rate was normal, as was his breathing.

He let his gaze linger over the relaxed features, allowing himself a few moments to observe the observer. Without the benefit of his constant motion to distract one's attention, Blair seemed oddly vulnerable. Stifling another sigh, Jim turned away and pulled the blanket from the back of the couch to cover him.

He wasn't at all sure that it was wise to consider leaving him alone like this. He'd made so many mistakes lately when it came to his partner; he didn't want to compound the problems between them by making yet another one. Jim reached for the cordless phone and dialed Simon's cell.

_"Banks."_

"Captain, it's Ellison."

_"Something wrong with the kid?"_

Jim smiled slightly at the worry in Simon's voice. "I'm not sure, Sir. He had an episode of sorts in the truck and passed out. I had to carry him upstairs. He seems okay now, but he still hasn't come 'round."

_"Do you need to take him to the hospital? Or have you already called an ambulance?"_

"Ah, no Sir. His vitals are fine, but I'm not sure what's going on. I don't think I should leave him in this condition. I think the hospital is premature, but I'd like to be here to make sure nothing changes."

_"I see. Of course. I really do want to go over this case with you, Jim. How about if I have Brown and Rafe meet us at your place? We can just as easily discuss it there as in my office."_

Jim hesitated for a moment, but he'd heard the unstated need in Simon's voice to see for himself that Blair was all right. "Yeah, that'll work, Sir."

_"Good. We'll see you in about 20 minutes, then." &lt;beep&gt;_

Jim sat on the coffee table and contemplated the man asleep on the couch. What was going on? What had Blair meant when he'd said _'it's here'_ and it was _'his fault?'_ He shook his head. None of those questions would be answered so long as he was unconscious.

He grasped Blair's shoulder and gently shook him. "Chief? Come on, buddy, wake up, okay?" He smiled as sleepy blue eyes blinked back at him.

"Jim?"

"How're you feeling?"

"Huh? I'm all right. Why? What happened?"

"You tell me. What do you remember?"

"Um. The last thing I remember, we were in the truck on the way to a murder scene. How'd we get back to the loft? Oh man!" He struggled to sit up, but Jim stopped him with a gentle hand on his chest and eased him back down on the couch.

"Take it easy, Sandburg." He frowned down at him. "You don't remember arriving at the murder?"

"Huh-uh." Blair went still, only the fear in his eyes indicating what he was feeling. "What happened, Jim?"

"I don't know what's going on, Chief. We got to the scene and it was bad. We went through it, but I couldn't use my senses much; there was just too much blood." He hesitated for a moment. "You had some kind of reaction while we were in the room with the body, I think. I got you out to the truck and brought you back to the loft."

"And?"

"And you made a strange comment when I tried to get you out of the truck and then it was like you had some kind of fit and you passed out. I brought you upstairs, put you on the couch. I've been waiting for you to wake up." He shrugged.

Blair frowned. "What did I say?"

"When?"

"You said I made a strange comment. What did I say?"

"Oh. You said, _'it's here.'_ And then you said, _'my fault.'_"

Blair slowly pushed himself up so that he was reclining against the corner of the couch and ran a hand back through his hair. "What's here?"

"I don't know. I tried to ask you, but that's when you started shaking. I was afraid you might be about to go into convulsions, but you passed out instead. Any of this sounding familiar?"

"Sorry, man. I'm drawing a complete blank." He bit his lower lip.

"That's okay, Chief. I'm sort of wishing I could draw a blank at remembering that murder scene, myself." His nostrils flared slightly as he caught the faint aroma of cigars. "Simon's on his way up."

He stood and strode to the door. "Brown and Rafe are supposed to meet us here. I didn't think it was a good idea to leave you alone, so they're coming here to discuss the case."

Blair nodded and drew the blanket up to his chest as if he were cold. Jim frowned as he watched nervous fingers pluck at the edge of the covering. Was he embarrassed about what had happened? Or was he worried about the coming discussion? Lost in his concern for his partner, Jim missed that Simon had arrived at the door until he heard him knock.

"Captain. Come on in." He held the door open and shrugged at Simon's questioning gaze. "Make yourself at home."

"Sandburg?" Simon sat on the opposite couch. "Jim said you passed out. How're you feeling?"

Blair cleared his throat and glanced down at his hands. "Okay, I guess."

Simon caught Jim's eye and raised an eyebrow. Jim shook his head slightly and was relieved when he shrugged and sat back. Jim sat on the couch next to Blair, close enough to make the kid pull his knees up. Blair didn't seem to mind, but Jim could feel his Captain's curious gaze. Simon wouldn't ask and he wouldn't volunteer, but the fact was that he felt an uneasy need to be able to touch Blair at that moment. As though he required reassurance that he was whole and solid and sitting right next to him.

"All right, Jim," Simon said, "it's not much, but here's what we've got. The victim's name was Marjorie Cavanaugh. She'd just bought the house where her body was found, but escrow hadn't closed yet."

"Thus no furniture."

"Right. There was nothing in that house that belonged to the victim, not even her missing clothes. There was no car in the drive, nor any indication of how she got there. The neighbors weren't much help. None of them knew her and no one saw or heard anything."

Jim rubbed his forehead. "That was an extremely violent murder, Simon. No one heard anything? No screams or sounds of a struggle?"

Simon shook his head. "Doesn't look like it. Rafe talked to the neighbors on both sides and Brown took the neighbors living to the rear. No one saw or heard anything unusual. We'll find out if they have anything new to add when they get here."

"What about the other three murders?"

"There were others?" Blair asked.

"Yeah, Chief. This was the fourth one. That's why we got called in on it instead of Homicide."

"Oh, man, you mean we have another serial killer on our hands?" Blair closed his eyes.

"Maybe." Jim glanced at Simon. "Did Captain Tarnahan give you the files?"

Simon nodded. "Got 'em right here. Brown and Rafe should be here soon. They need to go over them, too. I want you as primary on this, Jim, but you're going to need help." His gaze darted to Blair and then returned to Jim.

Jim nodded slowly. He hated to think it, but if Blair really was reacting badly to the case, then he'd have to find a way to keep him from getting too involved. It made sense to utilize the other detectives in the department and Jim was more than happy to have those others be Brown and Rafe.

"Simon?" Blair asked softly. "Jim only described the murder as a bad one. What does that mean?"

Simon blinked at the question and cleared his throat. "Ah, well, you see--"

A knock on the front door interrupted his hesitant explanation and Jim was just as happy that it did. He wasn't at all sure that he was up to hearing the victim described, let alone ready to deal with what that description might do to Blair. He opened the door and nodded to the two men as Brown and Rafe entered the loft.

"Hey, Hairboy," H. called out. He frowned at the sight of Blair on the couch with the blanket pulled over him. "You feeling all right?"

"Yeah," Blair said. "Just a little shaky, you know?"

Jim hid a smile at the bluff and the knowing nod from H. All the kid had to go on was that the murder had been 'bad.' Yet, only knowing that, he'd figured he didn't need to explain. His less than enthusiastic reaction to other murders was legendary within Major Crime and he obviously counted on H. assuming that his reaction to a murder that both Jim and Simon considered 'bad' would be that much stronger.

"I know what you mean. GQ here even made a deposit in the bushes." H. slanted a wry glance at Rafe and held up his hands at his partner's glare. "Hey, man, you weren't the only one and you know it. Nothing wrong with that. I came pretty close to joining you."

Rafe shrugged, a sheepish expression on his face. "You didn't, though."

"No, but only 'cause I've had years of practice keeping down that brown sludge in the break room that's laughingly called coffee." H. grinned.

Jim smiled slightly at the banter, relieved to see that Blair had relaxed back against the corner of the couch. "What did you get from the neighbors?"

"Nothing, nothing and more nothing," H. said in disgust. "Nobody saw anything, nobody heard anything, nobody knows anything."

"You think they were lying?" Jim raised an eyebrow.

Rafe sighed. "I don't know. Maybe. It was hard to tell, really. You know how sometimes you just know that someone's lying, no matter how plausible they sound? It wasn't like that at all. Far as I could tell, they all thought they were telling the truth."

"Doesn't make sense, man," H. protested. "No way that someone didn't hear something. That street is quiet. No traffic noise, no loud music. No reason why the neighbors wouldn't have heard her scream."

"Unless she didn't." Blair's voice was soft.

"Didn't what, Chief?"

Blair glanced quickly at the others and then turned to Jim. Hesitantly, he said, "Maybe she didn't scream. If no one heard anything, maybe it's because there really was nothing to hear."

H. and Rafe exchanged puzzled glances. Jim could see the questions written on their faces and figured that he better say something. He was strangely reluctant to bring up the fact that Blair didn't remember the crime scene.

"There wasn't much intact about the body," he said and then winced at the mental image that brought to mind and the way that Blair's eyes widened. "It was a pretty violent murder. Hard to believe that she didn't make some noise. Or are you suggesting that she was drugged? We'll have to see what Dan can tell us from the blood samples."

Simon nodded. "Dan knows his job. We'll just have to wait for his report. In the meantime, here are the files on the other murders." He dropped them on the coffee table.

Jim picked up the file labeled "Jankowski" as Rafe grabbed the one labeled "Webster" and Brown snagged the "Simmons" file. He opened the folder, taking care not to disclose the contents to Blair in case photos of the victim were on the top, figuring there was no need to upset him any further. He read through the report and frowned. When he was done, he handed the folder to Brown and accepted the file from Rafe. His frown deepened as he read through the Webster case file.

"Jim?" Simon raised an eyebrow. "Something bothering you?"

He reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm not sure that I see why Rice and McDonald lumped these three cases together. And I'm not sure that I see the connection with the Cavanaugh murder."

Simon grimaced. "There's some information that was left out of the files." He held up a hand to stem an angry outburst. "That's why Captain Tarnahan wanted to speak with me before turning these cases over to us. The information was left out at his request and, while I don't exactly agree with his decision, I can understand his reasoning."

"What was left out, Sir?" Rafe asked.

Simon sighed. "On the surface, the murders don't appear to be related. Sure, they're all obviously stabbings, but each one is unique. The Simmons murder was the first, then Jankowski, Webster and now Cavanaugh. Assuming that they're related, the pattern of violence is escalating. The thing that really ties them together, though, is the removal of victims' hearts. When the officers on the scene at the Cavanaugh murder reported the state of the body, Captain Tarnahan put it together with the other murders and called me."

"Their hearts?" Blair's voice trailed off and he swallowed heavily.

Jim glanced at the Captain. "I still don't understand why that was left out of the reports."

Simon looked uncomfortable and avoided Jim's gaze. "Evidently there were some wild rumors floating around that there was something supernatural going on because of the missing hearts, that maybe the murderer was performing a ritual of some kind. Tarnahan wanted to nip that kind of talk in the bud before it got out of hand."

"Supernatural?" Jim asked in a dry voice. "No. Really?"

"Ellison," Simon began.

"Simon?" Blair interrupted. "Did the detectives that had the cases come up with any viable explanation for why the killer removed the victims' hearts?"

"No, Sandburg, they didn't." Simon shrugged. "We'll just have to dig deeper and figure it out."

"There must be something else in common about the victims." Jim reached for one of the folders again and flipped through the few pages that existed. "Something that ties them together that was missed the first time."

"Occupations?" Blair asked.

"Mortgage broker, landscape architect, real estate agent and administrative assistant." H. shrugged. "If there's a pattern there, I don't see it."

Jim turned to Blair and noted the slight frown on his face. "Whatcha got, Chief?"

Blair hesitated. "Maybe nothing, Jim. Who was what?"

Rafe pointed at each folder in turn. "Art Jankowski was the mortgage broker. He was an independent and it looks like he had a pretty good business going. Jason Webster was the landscape architect. In business for himself, modestly successful. The real estate agent was Pete Simmons, another independent. Marjorie Cavanaugh was an administrative assistant working for a senior vice president at Cascade Insurance."

Blair chewed on his bottom lip. "Simon, earlier you said that Marjorie Cavanaugh's house was going through escrow, right?"

"Uh-huh. Just about to close."

Jim raised his eyebrows. "You're thinking Simmons might have been her real estate agent?"

"Maybe." Blair shrugged. "Worth checking out."

"Yeah, it is." Rafe shook his head. "But Rice and McDonald already checked out any possible connection among the three men and came up empty."

Jim narrowed his eyes and stared at the folders on the coffee table. "Maybe we're thinking too linearly here. Maybe the connection for all of them is with Cavanaugh."

"Like, Simmons finds the house for Cavanaugh, Jankowski arranges for her loan and then she hires Webster?" Simon asked.

"Maybe. The only way we'll know is to check it out."

"Sounds like leg work for tomorrow, partner." H. nudged Rafe with his elbow and then turned to Simon. "Anything else for tonight, Captain?"

"I think that covers it." Simon rose to his feet, followed by Rafe and Brown. He waved Jim back onto the couch. "We'll see ourselves out. See you in the morning, Jim. Sandburg, you take care of yourself."

Jim smiled. "Tomorrow, Captain."

When the door closed behind his colleagues, Jim got up and made sure it was locked. A quick glance at Blair told him that the kid wasn't moving off the couch any time soon. What could he say to him to make him feel better? How do you assure someone that he's better off not being able to remember something as horrible as the murder scene they'd visited? How do you tell your best friend that you don't want him to leave?

Jim sighed softly and turned to the stairs to his bedroom. "I'll see you in the morning, Chief."

"Sure, Jim."

 

~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~

 

_Jim opened his eyes and sighed as he recognized the blue jungle surrounding him. He should have known that he'd have a vision sooner or later. There was just too much weirdness happening for him to escape it. He shivered slightly in the false warmth of the dream jungle. The last time he'd been there he'd shot the wolf. He dreaded what he might see this time._

A faint noise came from up ahead and he shrugged. Nothing seemed to be happening where he was, so he might as well get on with it. It was odd, though. Every other time he'd had a vision he'd been so disoriented and off balance that he'd barely been able to think rationally. This time was different. This time he felt clear headed and calm.

He broke out of the jungle into the familiar clearing leading to the Temple of the Sentinels. He waited, the air heavy with anticipation. A low rumble came from the rough stone carving of the jaguar in front of the Temple. As he watched, the jaguar slowly morphed into the spirit version of himself, looking much as he had while he'd lived with the Chopec. So it was going to be another one of those_ dreams, was it?_

Spirit Jim regarded him unblinkingly. "What do you fear?"

Jim frowned. Hadn't they covered that ground already? "I fear responsibility."

"What do you fear?" Was it Jim's imagination or was there a touch of impatience in his double's voice?

Jim's eyes widened as his thoughts from earlier that evening slammed into him. "I fear the time when Blair leaves me." He thought he saw a slight look of approval on his double's face.

"Has he ever refused to follow you? Ever refused to aid you?"

"No." If anything, Blair was always rushing in to help without concern for his own safety if he thought Jim needed him.

"Your Guide made his choice long ago. His commitment is to you. Why do you persist in denying him?"

Guide. Interesting. That was the word that Brackett had used to describe Blair, too. "I don't understand." Hadn't he already chosen? "I made my choice to be a Sentinel. Twice."

"This is not about you." Spirit Jim's voice turned mocking and Jim flinched as his own words were thrown back in his face. "What's bugging me is, what are the chances of two Sentinels appearing in Cascade at this time, right? And falling in with you?"

"Oh God." He'd known. In his heart he'd always known. Alex showing up in Cascade wasn't a coincidence and it wasn't about him. It was about Blair.

"You both started on this journey walking separate paths. It is time for those paths to merge. Commit yourself to your Guide, as he has committed himself to you. Or else free him to move on. It is your choice, Sentinel, but it is his life." The tone of voice was stern and the look on Spirit Jim's face spoke of dire consequences if Jim failed to choose correctly.

"I cannot...no, I will not_ do this without Blair. I choose my Guide."_

 

Jim sat up in bed, wide awake and breathing hard. He glanced at the alarm clock and was surprised to see that he'd actually gotten a couple hours of sleep. A loud gasp from the living room drew his attention. It took a moment for him to register that what he was hearing wasn't just Blair waking up on the couch, but that it was a very scared Blair waking up on the couch. The realization that his friend's heart was pumping far too fast and that he was having trouble drawing breath propelled Jim out of bed and down the stairs in record time.

Blair huddled in the only pool of moonlight on the floor, surrounded on all sides by darkness. His back was pressed against the doors to the balcony where the moonlight entered the loft, his knees pulled up to his chest and his eyes fixed on the shadows just beyond his feet. His expression was blank as he rocked back and forth slightly, like a child trying to comfort himself. He gave no indication that he heard Jim approach.

"Chief?" Jim said softly, trying not startle him. "What's going on?"

The rocking continued and Blair still didn't acknowledge his presence. A chill touched Jim's heart. The blank look on Blair's face made him want to reach out and pull his friend into his arms and hold on tight. Instead, he reached for the nearest lamp. Soft light brightened the immediate area and seemed to calm Blair somewhat. At least his rocking stilled.

"I'm just gonna turn on a few more lamps, okay, Chief?" he said softly. He kept up a soothing litany of reassuring words as he made a quick circuit of the room. His voice faltered as he recalled coming home that morning and wondering if his partner had been trying to recreate the Las Vegas Strip while he was on stakeout, what with the number of lights that had been blazing in the loft. Had this been going on for the last three nights while he'd been gone?

As the brightness in the room grew, Blair seemed to relax further. Suddenly he looked back over his shoulder at the darkness outside and scooted a couple of feet into the room. Jim sat on the edge of the couch and watched. When Blair's gaze fell on him, he smiled reassuringly and patted the cushion next to him.

"Come on up here, Chief, huh? It's a lot more comfortable than sitting down there on the floor." He gently patted the cushion one more time, trying to coax him up.

Blair blinked rapidly and then slowly climbed onto the couch, his gaze never leaving Jim's face. The blank look was mostly gone from his eyes, but it still seemed as though he were somewhere else, somewhere far away. Jim was afraid to touch him, as if Blair were some wild animal that he'd lured close and any sudden movement might send him skittering away. He slowly let out his breath and smiled again, hoping to see some sign of his friend returning.

Exhaustion was evident in every movement Blair made. It wouldn't be long before it caught up to him and Jim intended to be there when he crashed. Blair blinked slowly as if trying to keep his eyes open and he began to sway with the effort to stay awake.

"It's okay, Sandburg. I'm here. You can sleep now." He reached out and caught the kid as his eyes shut and he slumped bonelessly against Jim's chest. He pulled Blair close, relieved that he didn't fight against being held. "Ah, Chief. What's happening to us?" he said softly.

He relaxed back against the couch, pulling Blair with him until they were both comfortable. Their lives might be anything but normal; all of the lights might be on in the loft and he might be sitting on the couch holding his best friend against his heart, but Jim felt more at peace than he had in a long time. He thought about the choice he'd made in his vision and slid into sleep with a smile on his face.


	3. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "There are two ways of spreading light: to be the candle or the mirror that reflects it." -- Edith Wharton

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted May 2003

Blair groaned and turned his head. He opened one eye and peered blearily at the coffee table. Coffee table? He frowned and pushed himself up to a sitting position from where he'd been lying on his stomach on the couch. He'd obviously fallen asleep in his clothes after Simon and the others left the previous night, but he had no memory of doing so.

A noise drew his gaze to the kitchen where Jim was quietly putting breakfast together. Jim's movements were economical in the small space, but they still held a lithe animal grace that was beautiful to watch. A bittersweet smile crossed Blair's face as he watched the man. There was so much left unsaid between them. Would they ever be able to clear the air? And then Jim raised his head and smiled at him, a genuine smile the likes of which Blair hadn't seen recently. It took his breath away and prompted a like smile in return.

"Hey, Chief. Thought we could do with a substantial breakfast this morning."

"Sounds good, man." He yawned widely. "Do I have time for a shower, or should I wait?"

"This is just about done. Why don't you eat, then take your shower and get ready? Simon won't mind if we're a few minutes late this morning."

Blair nodded and sat down at the table. "Sounds like a plan."

Jim finished dishing up their eggs and toast and joined him, placing a plate in front of Blair before taking his own seat. He waited for Blair to dig in and then asked casually, "Want to talk about it?"

Blair raised his eyebrows. "Talk about what?"

"Last night." Jim put his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers together in front of his mouth. "That was some nightmare you were having."

"Nightmare? What are you talking about, man?" His eyes widened. All he remembered from the previous night was Simon, Brown and Rafe being there and discussing the case. He didn't really remember them leaving, nor did he remember falling asleep on the couch. He certainly remembered waking up in a panic every night while Jim was on stakeout, so wouldn't he remember if he'd had a nightmare last night?

"Blair." Jim hesitated for a moment and Blair bit his lip. "You don't remember, do you, Chief?"

"Remember what?" Blair shook his head slowly, wanting to deny whatever it was that was happening.

"I woke up in the middle of the night to find you sitting on the floor, apparently scared out of your mind. The only thing that seemed to calm you down was when I started turning on lights. You were pretty out of it, Chief."

Blair pushed his plate away, his appetite gone. "I don't remember anything like that," he said quietly.

Jim shook his head and Blair could see the telltale flex of his cheek that meant he was struggling for control. When he spoke, his voice was calm. "You don't remember dreaming?"

Blair shook his head slowly.

"What about the night before? When I came home from the stakeout, you were on the couch and all of the lights were on."

He glanced away. "I've been waking up in the middle of the night from nightmares. I can't remember them, Jim, but I do remember waking up."

"Nightmares bad enough to force you out of your room and make you turn on all of the lights?"

Blair nodded.

"Every night I was gone?"

Again, he nodded.

"Why didn't you say something?"

Blair rolled his eyes. "Oh, sure, and what was I supposed to say, huh? Hey Jim, I've been having nightmares so bad that I'm afraid to be alone in the dark? That you have a partner who's so afraid of the dark that even when I turn on all of the lights I'm still terrified of what might be lurking in the shadows? Or maybe you'd like to hear about how I'm afraid I might be losing my mind, what with all the weird shit happening and not being able to remember any of it? Oh yeah, that's bound to instill confidence." He pushed his chair away from the table. "I'm gonna go take a shower. Thanks for the breakfast, man."

He shut the bathroom door behind him and leaned back against it, trying desperately to stop shaking. God, what was happening to him? He ran a trembling hand through his hair and took a deep breath. He had to calm down and get a grip. He pulled his shirt over his head and reached into the tub to turn on the water. A nice hot shower was just what he needed to clear the cobwebs away, he thought, studiously ignoring the fact that hot showers had failed to work their usual magic for the past several mornings.

 

~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~

 

Forty-five minutes later they exited the elevator on the sixth floor of the Police Department and headed for Major Crime. Jim hadn't brought up his outburst after Blair came out of the bathroom, but he could still feel his friend's gaze touching him every so often as if checking on him. Probably making sure that he wasn't about to have some kind of fit, Blair thought glumly.

The department was bustling and several detectives called out greetings that he acknowledged. Jim made a beeline for Simon's office and Blair followed on his heels. As they passed Jim's desk, he gestured for Blair to take a seat.

"Give us a minute, huh, Chief?"

"Sure, Jim."

Blair dropped onto a chair and frowned as he watched Jim head for the Captain's office. He shook his head and turned to the computer. He might as well do some research on rituals that involved removing the victim's heart while he waited. He glanced up as H. stopped by Jim's desk with a friendly greeting.

"Hey, man," Blair said with a small smile. "How's it going?"

H. cocked his head and shrugged. "Not bad. Thought I'd see how you were feeling today."

"I'm fine."

"That's good, that's good. I'll be glad when we catch this guy. The thought of what he did to those people - not pleasant, man, not at all."

"Um, yeah." Blair took a deep breath and the room suddenly dissolved around him. He was somewhere else, somewhere dark. His heart hammered in his chest as he tried to see even a glimmer of light. Something was there with him and he couldn't let it touch him, couldn't let it have him. He had to find the light; he couldn't stay in the dark with whatever it was that was there.

"Blair? Are you all right?"

He blinked, suddenly back in the bullpen, and looked up at Jim's concerned face. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

"Chief?" Jim's hand was warm on his shoulder, comforting without words. "Are you with me, buddy?"

He shook his head. This couldn't be good, could it?

"Look, why don't you sit here for a few minutes. I just need to have a quick word with Simon and then I'll be right back. Okay, Chief?"

Blair simply nodded, realizing in a detached way that his quiet acquiescence was more worrying to Jim than if he'd said something, but he felt frozen as if suspended between one instant and the next. He watched as Jim and H. exchanged glances, with H. nodding imperceptibly when Jim tilted his head toward Blair. That meant something, something that Blair knew he should easily decipher, but he just couldn't seem able to get past the fog in his brain.

"Hey, Hairboy," H. said softly as he perched on the edge of Jim's desk, "you heard about the new admin down in Vice yet?"

Blair stared at H., watching his mouth move as he went on about whatever he was talking about, and he thought it awfully funny that there was no sound. He tried to nod in the right places and act like everything was fine, but from the look on Brown's face, he was failing miserably. He was as relieved as H. when Jim returned and put a hand under his elbow, urging him up from his seat. Blessedly, sound returned along with Jim.

"Come on, Chief. We've got an appointment to keep." Jim held out his coat for him to slip his arms in and then pulled it closed over his chest.

"Appointment?" Blair couldn't recall having anywhere to be right then. He brushed Jim's hands away as his friend began to fasten the buttons on his coat.

Jim sighed. "Yeah, Chief. My doctor'll see you if we can get there in the next 20 minutes."

"Doctor?" He frowned slightly. "Did I make an appointment I forgot about?"

Jim shook his head slowly. "I just called him. I think it's time we got you checked out. Don't you?"

He swallowed thickly. "If you say so, man." That seemed to disturb Jim even more, but he couldn't figure out why that would be and he allowed his friend to lead him out of the bullpen. He didn't notice the silence that had descended on the other detectives, nor how their eyes followed the two of them as they left.

 

~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~

 

Five hours and numerous tests later, Jim held the loft door open for Blair and frowned as he watched him enter their home. The kid's shoulders sagged with weariness. Jim hung both of their jackets on the pegs near the door and then sat down next to Blair on the couch.

"Well, at least we know that there's nothing physically wrong with me," Blair said slowly. "Guess maybe I really am just going nuts, huh? I could have saved us the time and just gotten the opinion of half of the Anthro department and most of the guys in Major Crime."

Jim turned towards him and grabbed his shoulders, his face fierce. "You are not going crazy, Chief. Don't say that. Don't ever say that. Whatever this is, there's an explanation."

"Sure, Jim. Just, well, what is it? If we've eliminated a physical cause, all that's left is the mental."

"You're missing something, Sandburg."

Blair shot him a tired glance and shrugged. "Happens every day, man. What are you talking about this time?"

"You said if it wasn't physical it had to be mental. There's a third option. What if it's, uh, mystical?"

Blair jumped up and stood near the balcony windows. "Mystical? That's rich. Now you want to talk about the mystical?" Jim winced at the anger in his voice.

"Look, I'm sorry, all right?" Jim rose and stood in front of him, shifting his weight uneasily. He couldn't pretend that he didn't understand what Blair meant. "I wasn't ready to talk about what happened then. I'm not really sure if I'm ready now, but I don't think we have a choice. I think we have to talk about it." He held his arms out from his sides, hands spread.

Blair searched his face as if looking for answers and then he shook his head. "If we're going to talk, we're going to talk about all of it." He dropped his gaze to the floor. "I'm tired of walking around the damn elephant, pretending it's not in the room with us."

Jim nodded. Fear made him want to crack a joke about all of the elephant dung that had accumulated, but he clamped down hard on that impulse. That was how they'd gotten into this mess in the first place, with him making jokes about back rent in order to skirt the more emotional issues.

"I hear you." He hesitated for a moment and then asked, "You want to start?"

Blair's shoulders slumped. "I don't know where I stand with you, Jim. I used to, or I guess I thought I did, but I don't anymore."

"What do you mean?" He forced the words out past the sudden lump in his throat.

"I thought we were friends. Partners. I thought I mattered to you and that you wanted me around for more than just help with the senses. I thought I made a difference with you." He swiped a hand over his eyes.

"You are all of those things to me, and more, Chief."

He shook his head. "No, Jim, I'm not. 'Cause if I were, you would've told me a long time ago. I wouldn't have to wonder about it."

"Chief. Blair. You're wrong. You know how I am with this stuff. I thought you understood how I feel. It's more than just about the Sentinel thing. Even if my senses went back to normal tomorrow, I'd still want you with me. You're my best friend, Blair, but you're so much more than that." He closed his eyes briefly and shook his head. "I know that I've screwed things up between us. It's my fault. I should have told you all of this after Alex. After the fountain. I don't know why I couldn't." Jim gazed at his friend, trying to let everything he felt for him shine in his eyes.

"I-I wanted to believe that you still wanted me around," Blair said. "Everything felt so right when I woke up in the hospital. I knew what my purpose was then, that I was supposed to be with you, help you. I couldn't hold onto it, though. I can't remember what happened anymore."

Jim frowned. "What do you mean, you can't remember?"

Blair stared at the floor and wrapped his arms around his chest as if to comfort himself. His voice was low and sad. "I know something amazing happened. The guys said I died, but that you wouldn't give up on me. I have a hazy memory of being some place else, something about a wolf I think, and then suddenly I'm coughing up water. I don't really remember anything in between. And even that vague memory is fading."

Jim reached out and pulled Blair close. He closed his eyes in relief when the tense body in his arms gradually relaxed against him. When Blair tentatively put his arms around his waist, Jim sighed and let his cheek rest lightly against his friend's curly head for a moment.

"You did die, Blair. We still don't know how long you'd been in the water before we arrived. Simon and I performed CPR, but we couldn't get your heart started." He swallowed heavily. "When the paramedics said that they were giving up, I lost it, Chief. I couldn't let you go. That's when I heard Incacha's voice."

Blair's head jerked. "Incacha? Jim, what--"

"It's okay, Chief. His spirit came to tell me how to find you and bring you home." He gently pressed Blair's head back down against his shoulder. "He told me to use the power of my animal spirit. Suddenly, I was in the jungle and I was the jaguar. There was a wolf up ahead of me and I knew it was you. You turned, saw that I'd come after you and you ran to me, away from the Light that I could see beyond you. We both leapt for each other. I don't know how to describe what happened next, except to say that it was like we somehow merged, or our animal spirits did. It was the most incredible thing I've ever experienced. The next thing I know, I'm leaning over you on the grass and your heart is beating and you're spitting up water." His arms tightened around his partner.

Blair turned his head to rest his forehead against Jim's chest. His voice was muffled, but Jim easily made out his plaintive words. "Why can't I remember, Jim?"

"I don't know, Junior. You remembered just fine when I saw you in the hospital later. You'd seen the same thing. You wanted to talk about it and I...I couldn't. Everything was so raw and painful and...and it was too soon, so I blew you off, saying I wasn't ready." Jim's voice reflected his regret. "I'm so sorry, Chief. It was important and I should have talked to you, whether I wanted to deal with it or not."

Blair leaned back and looked up at him, his expression earnest. His voice trembled with suppressed emotion. "No, Jim. I'd died. You brought me back, man. Do you understand what you did? You went after me and brought me back. Maybe I don't remember it all, but it doesn't diminish what you did." A shy smile crossed his face. "You do care. I guess actions really do speak louder than words, huh?"

Jim smiled down at him. "Yeah, Darwin. I care. More than I could ever say no matter how hard I try. You're the wordsmith around here, kid, but I understand that you need to hear me say them. I'll make you a deal. I'll try to remember to say the words sometimes, if you'll promise to let me know what's going on with you."

"Deal, Jim." Blair stepped back, breaking their embrace. He cocked his head and frowned slightly. "What I don't understand is, why don't I remember? And why can't I remember the other stuff? Do you think it's all tied in together somehow?"

He shook his head. "I don't know, but I'm betting it is."

"There must be something in common between these experiences." He paced in front of the couch, his movements jerky. "You're the only one of us who can remember everything, so you're the one who's gonna have to figure out what it is."

Jim grabbed a flailing arm and halted the frenetic motion. He turned his partner around and pushed him gently down onto the couch. When Blair would have bounced back up, he merely raised his eyebrows and cocked his head, smiling slightly when he slumped back with a soft huff. He sat on the coffee table, bumping his knees against Blair's, and rested his hands on his partner's thighs, stilling the nervous jiggling.

Jim took a deep breath and let it out slowly, raising his eyes till his gaze met Blair's. "There's more, Chief. I need to tell you about the dream I had last night." Without giving him a chance to ask a question, Jim launched into a detailed description of his dream. When it was over, he waited patiently for Blair to process what he'd just heard.

"He was right," Blair said, his voice husky.

"About?"

"Your spirit guide or whatever, he was right about me. I did make my choice a long time ago." His eyes filled with unshed tears and he blinked them away. "It's just, with everything that happened with Alex, I wasn't sure, man. I didn't know how you could trust me again."

"How _I_ could trust _you?_ I'm the one who was at fault in all of that mess, Sandburg. I've been worrying about how to convince you that you could still trust me. I know I hurt you with how I acted with Alex in Sierra Verde." He swallowed hard and glanced down, unwillingly to meet Blair's eyes. "I still don't know how to explain that, Chief. It was like it wasn't me doing those things and yet it was. Like I was caught in a dream and I couldn't wake up."

"Like something was controlling your actions?"

Jim shrugged. "I don't know. I just felt like I couldn't think straight. God knows I don't understand how I could have done the things that I did. And that's something I worry about - what happens if we run into another sentinel?"

"Alex wasn't a sentinel!" Jim blinked at the vehemence in Blair's voice.

"I don't understand, Chief. She had the senses, right?"

Blair nodded. "Yeah. She had the senses, but that's all she had. I was wrong about what makes a sentinel, man. It isn't just the hyperactive senses. A sentinel, a true sentinel, also has a desire to protect and help. There's a reason why you were drawn to the Army and why you joined the police force, Jim. Alex didn't have what it takes to really be a sentinel. She was just another criminal, only she happened to have hyperactive senses."

Jim thought that over for a moment and sighed. "Still doesn't excuse what I did. I couldn't see how you could forgive me for it."

"And I couldn't see how you could forgive me." Blair shook his head. "Idiots, the both of us."

Jim snorted. "You got that right."

Blair took a deep breath. "What do you say to agreeing that we both screwed up and that we forgive each other and move on? I won't pretend it's a perfect solution, but it's all that I've got."

"Sounds like a plan I can get behind, Chief. I'm willing to try if you are." Jim smiled slightly. "We okay?"

"Better'n okay, man."

"Good." Jim tilted his head. "We still don't have an explanation for what's going on now. You know me. I've got about all I can handle just dealing with my senses and I'd rather never have to deal with the mystical stuff if I can help it. So, you know what a stretch it is for me to say that I don't think we have any choice. Problem is, I'm all out of ideas."

Blair raised an eyebrow. "I do have a thought, but it's going to sound crazy."

"How much crazier can it sound than me bringing you back from the dead?"

"You have a point." He raked his hand back through his hair. "Just bear with me here, okay? I can't remember certain things. Things that you have no trouble recalling."

"I think we've established that, yeah." Jim smiled slightly.

"Smart ass," Blair said, his tone light. "I need to know what it is that I can't remember. I need to know what you experienced."

Jim shrugged and began describing being at the murder scene again, only this time he talked about the odd intensity of the scene and how they'd both reacted. He spoke of Blair's reaction when they got back to the loft and then his behavior during his nightmare later. Blair was uncharacteristically quiet throughout the story, offering not a single interruption to his narrative and that worried Jim. He should have had a million questions as well as a dozen postulations. The silence continued to stretch after Jim finished talking.

Blair's expression was troubled when he finally spoke. "All of that happened? And I was there?"

"Yeah."

"Then why can't I remember it?" He thumped his fist on his thigh.

"When we got to the scene of the murder, things were weird. I told Simon that I could sense something."

"What?"

"I don't know how to describe it, Chief, other than to say that it was like I was sensing evil. It wasn't so much a presence, exactly, more like the residual feeling that something evil had been there."

"Something." Blair's eyes widened. "Not someone."

"No. Not someone. Some thing. A force. A...I don't know what." Jim shrugged and raised his hands.

"We're back to the mystical," Blair said slowly.

Jim nodded.

"Like how you brought me back."

"I guess. Yeah. Only this was something bad. When I crossed over, or whatever the hell I did, and brought you back at the fountain, all I could feel was warmth and love. I was scared I wouldn't be able to find you or that you wouldn't want to come back, but I didn't have a sense of anything evil."

Blair stared at him. "And you think this evil, or whatever it is, was at the murder scene." It wasn't a question.

"Yeah, I guess I do."

"Oh God," Blair said softly and lowered his head.

"What is it, Chief?" Jim ducked his head, trying to peer into Blair's eyes.

"That must be what I've been feeling the last few nights. Every time I woke up from the nightmares, I had to turn on all of the lights in the loft. Had to, Jim. I needed to get rid of the dark. I was sure that the shadows in the corners were moving, trying to reach me. I know it sounds crazy, but that's what it felt like." He raised his head and stared at Jim, anguish in his gaze. "My fault. That's what I said to you, remember? What if something evil really is loose in the world and it's my fault?"

"No!" Jim grasped Blair's arms, shaking him slightly to make sure he had his full attention. "These murders are not your fault. There's no way that I'm going to let you take on the guilt for them."

"Don't you see, Jim? You sensed something. I trust you, I trust your senses, and that means it's real. Whatever this thing is, what if it was brought back from wherever I was when I died? Maybe it was able to attach itself to our spirit animals when they merged or something. Who the hell knows? But what if bringing me back allowed it to enter our world?"

Jim shook his head. "Then it's my fault. Not yours. No way."

"But it seems to affect me, Jim. Not you. So, somehow I did it. I allowed this thing to come back with us."

Jim sat back, dropping his hands from Blair's arms. That didn't sound right to him, but he didn't know how to counter the argument. He wracked his brain trying to come up with something that would allow him to convince Blair that he wasn't to blame.

"I'm sorry I haven't been here for you, Chief. You shouldn't have had to face this by yourself."

"Damn it, Jim! How were you supposed to know? It's not like I said anything to you." He sighed and shook his head. "I'm sorry, all right? It's just, I've been trying to deal with the nightmares and the fear on my own. Trying to pretend that I'm not falling apart, man. I-I wasn't sure that you'd want to hear it."

"Shit, Blair." Jim shifted onto the couch next to his friend and pulled him close. "I wish I'd known what was going on. I'm the one who's sorry."

"Guess we're just a couple of sorry guys, huh?" The shaky words came from somewhere near the vicinity of his breast bone.

Jim smiled slightly. "None sorrier."

"What do we do now, Jim?"

"I don't know about you, but I'm thinking we leave the lights on."

Blair chuckled, a weak little sound that lacked mirth. He leaned back and searched Jim's face as if looking for the truth. "You think my nightmares weren't just nightmares?"

"What I think is that after everything we've been through that it would be better to keep an open mind, don't you?"

"Who are you and what did you do with Jim Ellison?"

"Very funny, Chief." Jim bopped him gently on the top of the head. He stood and smiled down at his partner. "I also think that I'm hungry. How about you? You up for some dinner?"

"I could eat, I guess."

He could feel Blair's eyes on him as he headed for the refrigerator. He knew that he'd just given him a lot to think about. It had to be some kind of milestone for him to be talking about this kind of stuff. Blair was right about him. More than anything he wanted to just bury it deep and forget about it, but that only ever seemed to ensure that something would come back out and bite them on the butt at the worst possible moment. He might not like it and he might resist the idea of facing this head on, but for once he wasn't going to hide from it.


	4. Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "There are two ways of spreading light: to be the candle or the mirror that reflects it." -- Edith Wharton

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted May 2003

The atmosphere in Major Crime the next morning was subdued and several of Jim's co-workers asked after Blair. Blair couldn't have obfuscated half so well, he thought, as he assured yet another detective that his partner was fine, that he'd just had a mild case of food poisoning. He told everyone who asked that the kid was at Rainier for the day.

"Jim."

He glanced up. "You need something, Sir?"

Simon jerked his head toward his office and raised an eyebrow. He closed the door and leaned back against his desk as Jim settled into one of the chairs.

"How's the kid?"

Jim smiled slightly. "The doctor couldn't find anything physically wrong with him. He suggested that maybe Sandburg just needs to get some rest."

"Let me guess. You don't think that's all that's going on?"

Jim shook his head slowly. "I wish it were. Blair and I talked, really talked last night for the first time since before Alex."

Simon nodded. "About time. Hope the two of you finally cleared the air. It's been damned unnerving wondering if and when the next shoe was gonna drop, Jim."

"I'm sorry about that." He hesitated for a moment and then said, "It was a start, Simon. I'm not naive enough to believe that all the hurt feelings will just automatically go away because we had a single talk, but it was definitely a start."

"Good." Simon straightened and walked around to sit behind his desk. "Now, about the case? What did the coroner's report say?"

"Dan found evidence of a powerful sedative in the samples Forensics collected of Cavanaugh's blood. He went back and tested the blood from the other cases and found the same sedative in samples from Jankowski and Webster, but not in the samples from the Simmons murder." He rubbed a hand over his forehead. "And her heart was missing."

"So, it's looking like the same perp was responsible for all three murders." Simon leaned forward.

"Yeah. Brown and Rafe checked on the possible connections between the victims. Sandburg was right. The common thread does appear to be Marjorie Cavanaugh."

Simon shook his head. "I'm not surprised. Sandburg's observations are usually right on the money, even when I can't understand a word of his explanations." He raised an eyebrow and stared at Jim. "And if you tell him I said that, I'll deny it."

Jim chuckled softly. "Yeah, well, I'm not sure he'd believe it even if I told him."

"Uh-huh. Let's just keep it that way." Simon leaned back in his chair and tilted his head. "What's your next step?"

"I plan to interview Marjorie Cavanaugh's co-workers. H. and Rafe are already headed for Seattle to talk to her parents." He shrugged. "If she really is where all the threads tie together then we should have a pretty good starting point to look for patterns."

"Take Joel with you on the interviews. Keep me informed on this one, Jim. I've already got the Chief on my back. Another murder and you know what it'll be like around here."

Jim nodded and rose from his chair. "Will do, Sir."

Back at his desk, Jim pulled out the Cavanaugh folder and shuffled through the pages until he found the information on her place of employment. She'd worked as the administrative assistant to one Terrance Stewart, Senior Vice President at Cascade Insurance. He figured he'd start with Stewart and work his way down a list of her co-workers. He snagged his coat and headed for the door, stopping at Joel's desk.

"Hey Joel. Ready to go over to Cascade Insurance? I thought we could do the co-worker interviews first."

Joel rose from his seat behind his desk. "Sure Jim. You okay with having me tag along?"

Jim smiled. "I'm glad to have you. I can use your help on this one."

They pulled into a parking space in the garage next to the building that housed Cascade Insurance, among other companies. Marjorie Cavanaugh had worked on the eighth floor. Jim flashed his badge at the receptionist behind the horseshoe shaped desk and asked to speak with Terrance Stewart. The young woman bit her lip and picked up the phone. Her conversation was quiet, but Jim didn't bother trying to eavesdrop. A few moments later a smartly dressed young woman came through the double glass doors and approached them.

"Detective Ellison?"

"Yes ma'am." He gestured at Joel. "This is my colleague, Detective Taggart."

"Mr. Stewart sent me. If you'll both follow me, please? I'll take you back to his office."

"Thank you, Miss?" Jim raised an eyebrow.

"I'm sorry. Call me Janice, please, Detectives."

They followed her through the doors and down a long hallway to a corner office. The brass nameplate on the office read "Terrance Stewart." Janice knocked and opened the door, indicating that they should enter.

"Mr. Stewart? This is Detective Ellison and Detective Taggart."

Terrance Stewart came around his desk and held out his hand. "Gentlemen. Please have a seat." He turned to Janice, still standing at the door. "Thank you, Janice. I'll let you know if we need anything."

"Yes, Sir." The door closed behind her with a soft snick.

Stewart returned to his chair. Jim studied him, noting that the man was younger than he expected, possibly only a few years older than himself. There were dark circles under his eyes and his skin had a pasty look to it, as if he hadn't been sleeping well. His gaze swept the desk, noting the computer, the blotter and two framed pictures of Stewart with a woman about his age and two preteen boys, presumably his family.

"I take it that you're here about Marjorie?" Stewart's voice trembled slightly when he spoke her name.

Jim cocked his head and smiled politely. "Yes sir. Mr. Stewart, we understand that Marjorie Cavanaugh was your administrative assistant. Is that correct?"

Stewart nodded. "Yes."

"How long had she worked for you?"

"Marjorie worked as my assistant for the last eight months."

"And what was she before that?" Jim noted with interest that tiny beads of sweat had begun to pop out on Stewart's upper lip.

"I'm sorry. I don't understand what you're asking." Stewart frowned.

Jim raised both eyebrows and exchanged a quick glance with Joel. "Did she have another capacity here at the company before she became your assistant?"

Stewart blinked. "Oh. Yes, Marjorie worked in the secretarial pool for a year before she came to work for me."

"I see." Jim wasn't sure why exactly, but the question definitely seemed to make Stewart nervous.

"Is it normal to be promoted to an executive's assistant out of the secretarial pool?" Joel asked.

That question caused Stewart's heart to beat a rapid tattoo. "It may not be usual practice, but it's definitely not unheard of. My department has the responsibility for investigating fraudulent insurance claims. Marjorie was an incredibly hard worker and very discreet. She was assigned several times to help Doris, my previous assistant, and I always found her work and her attitude to be exemplary. When Doris moved on, Marjorie applied for the job and, as she was the best qualified candidate, I hired her."

Jim nodded. "Mr. Stewart, would you say that Marjorie was well liked in the office?"

Stewart shrugged and his heartbeat steadied. "I really couldn't say. Certainly, she never complained about anyone, nor did I have anyone come to me with any complaints about her. I'd guess that she got along just fine with her co-workers."

"Is Janice your new assistant?" Joel asked.

"Temporarily. I'll have to open the position and go through the interview process."

"Did she know Marjorie?"

Stewart nodded. "Janice is part of the secretarial pool. She's been with the company for five years."

"What can you tell us about Marjorie's mood over the last week or so?" This time, Stewart's heartbeat went into overdrive.

"Nothing really stands out. Marjorie seemed much the same as always to me. I'm sorry, but I really don't know what else I can tell you. Marjorie was my assistant. I'm afraid that other than that, I didn't know her very well." He stood and walked around his desk.

Jim nodded at Joel and they both rose from their chairs. The interview was definitely over. Jim wanted to speak with Janice and get a list of other co-workers from the personnel office.

"Thank you for your time, Mr. Stewart." Jim shook the man's hand and managed not to grimace at the touch of his damp palm. "We'll want to speak with Janice next. Somewhere private, if possible."

"I'm sorry I couldn't have been more help." Stewart opened the door and ushered them into the hallway and around the corner to a cubicle area. "Janice? The detectives would like to speak with you. Why don't you take them into one of the conference rooms." He smiled and returned to his office before she could respond.

Janice shrugged. "The conference room down the hall should be empty."

The room proved to be small; a round table and six chairs took up most of the space. Jim took a seat facing the door and Joel sat next to him. Janice took a chair directly across from them. She folded her hands together on the table and smiled politely.

Jim gave her his friendliest smile. "We appreciate your taking the time to speak with us."

"This is about Marjorie, isn't it?"

Direct and to the point, Jim thought. "Yes."

"What would you like to know?"

"How well did you know her?"

"Well enough, I suppose."

"What exactly does that mean?" Joel smiled as if to take away any sting his words might have.

"We weren't friends, Detective. In fact, I doubt that you'll find that Marjorie had very many friends here." She frowned slightly. "The vast majority of the secretarial pool and all of the executive assistants are women and none of those women liked Marjorie Cavanaugh very much. If most of them are honest, they'll tell you that they resented her."

"And why was that, Janice?"

"Because she slept her way into her job as administrative assistant."

Jim glanced at Joel and then turned back to Janice. "Marjorie had an affair with Stewart?"

"Had?" Janice asked, a sardonic note in her voice. "I guess you could put it in the past tense now since she's dead."

Joel cleared his throat. "You're saying that Marjorie was still seeing Stewart at the time of her death?"

Janice nodded.

"Do you have any proof?"

"You might want to check out where the money came from for the down payment for that house she bought." She shrugged. "Mr. Stewart might not be aware of the fact that Marjorie bragged to the rest of us lowly secretaries that he gave her the money."

"I see." Jim smiled slightly. "You've been very helpful, Janice. Do you suppose you could do one more thing for me?"

"If I can, Detective."

"Think you could put together a list of Marjorie's co-workers for us? Perhaps the names of the other secretaries and assistants to whom she talked most frequently?"

Janice nodded. "I can do that. Let me just go type it up and I'll bring it back to you." She stood up and gave them each a measured look. "I know how I probably sound. I didn't like Marjorie and I didn't hide that. She wasn't better qualified for the job than several other women in the pool who have been with the company longer. What she was, was young and pretty and willing to use sex to get what she wanted. Even so, she didn't deserve to die. I hope you find her killer."

Jim nodded and watched her leave the room, then he turned to Joel. "What do you think?"

Joel hesitated. "Stewart was lying to us. If Janice is right, he was probably hoping that their affair wouldn't come out. It makes him a prime suspect."

Jim nodded. "Stewart definitely lied. Whether it was because he was trying to hide the affair or whether he actually killed her, I don't know."

They spent the rest of the afternoon interviewing the people on the list. A few of them repeated the same story that Janice had told them - Marjorie and Stewart were having an affair and Stewart gave her the money for the house. Unfortunately, everyone who told them that story admitted that they'd heard it from someone else. No one could claim to have actually seen the two of them together. By the time they finished the interviews, they found that Stewart had left for the day.

"I guess we might as well call it a day. Whaddaya think?"

"I like that idea." Joel stretched and groaned. "Funny how stiff you can get when you're just sitting around."

Jim grinned. "Yeah. I'd rather be out chasing down a suspect any day."

"So, you want to come back in the morning and talk to Stewart again?"

"Let's see if we can't trace that money first. I'd rather have a bit more to go on than office gossip, if we can find it. If he is the killer, I don't want to tip our hand before we have to."

"Sounds like a plan to me, Jim."


	5. Part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "There are two ways of spreading light: to be the candle or the mirror that reflects it." -- Edith Wharton

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted May 2003

The shrill ring of the phone woke Jim. His bedside clock read 10:30 p.m. They'd only gone to bed half an hour before. Blair was sleeping on the couch and all the lights were on in an attempt to prevent his nightmares for one night. Jim threw back the covers and trotted down the stairs to grab the phone, hoping that it hadn't woken him.

"Ellison."

_"Jim. Get out to Cascade Regional Park as soon as you can."_

"Simon? What's going on?" Jim frowned when Blair emerged from off the couch, yawning and looking rumpled. He shrugged when the kid raised his eyebrows.

_"We may have caught the guy responsible for the murders."_

"What! Are you sure?"

_"A patrol swung by the park and found the suspect soaking clothes in kerosene in one of the trash barrels. He was incoherent and they thought he might be drunk. When they pulled the clothes out of the barrel, they discovered that they covered with blood. They called it in and Brown and Rafe responded. When they got here, they found out that the suspect is Terrance Stewart. That's when they called me. They figure if he had the clothes with him that he might have the, uh, other things. They're trying to locate the other evidence, but so far they haven't had any luck. I'm on my way out there now."_

"Where are they?"

_"At the south entrance to the park."_

"All right. I'll meet you there in 15." He glanced at Blair. "That was Simon. Uniforms caught Terrance Stewart trying to burn bloody clothes in a trash barrel out at the regional park. Brown and Rafe are there now and Simon wants me to get over there before they take the guy in for booking."

Blair shook his head. "The guy you told me about? Marjorie Cavanaugh's boss? What are the odds - something like this, it just seems too easy, you know?" He went into his room.

"Look, I'm going to throw some clothes on and head out there." Jim raised his eyebrows as Blair returned wearing jeans and pulling on a sweatshirt. "Whoa, Chief! What do you think you're doing?"

Blair blinked at him, a surprised look on his face. "I'm going with you. You're gonna have to use your senses and you'll need me there to help you."

"Not this time, Junior. I don't like leaving you behind, Chief, but I'll feel a hell of a lot better if I know that you're back here resting." He frowned at the flicker of fear that passed through Blair's eyes.

"I won't rest, Jim. I'll just end up worrying about you. Come on, man, I need to go with you." He looked up at him, eyes pleading. "Besides, I'd rather not stay here by myself, you know?"

"Blair--"

"Forget it, Jim. I'm going. Live with it." His voice brooked no disagreement.

Jim sighed and raised his hands in capitulation. "Yeah. Fine. You're coming with. Get your warm coat, Chief. It's cold out there." He took the stairs to his room two at a time and then hurriedly pulled on his clothes.

"Yes, mom," Blair murmured softly as he shoved his feet into his sneakers.

"I heard that!" Jim called down to him, a small smile on his face.

"You were supposed to!"

Jim joined him at the door and grabbed his coat off the hook. "All right. Let's get this show on the road."

 

~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~

 

A strong wind whipped through the trees that bordered the entrance and dotted the interior of the park. Blair huddled deeper in his coat and shivered in the relative warmth of the truck's cab. The phrase _'it was a dark and stormy night'_ ran through his head and he was thankful that at least it wasn't raining.

He wished he could remember having been at the scene of the Cavanaugh murder. It scared him even more than he'd let on to Jim that his memory was a complete blank. The more he pushed at remembering, the faster his heart beat when he couldn't come up with anything. It was as if that segment of time just didn't exist for him.

Blair gazed out his window at the small knot of people standing where the parking lot met the edge of the park. They'd gathered under one of the dim yellow sodium lights that passed for night lighting. Someone had pulled a car up nearby and turned its headlights on, adding a bright halogen glow and allowing Blair to make out an occasional feature on individuals in the small group. He recognized Jim and Simon, as well as Brown and Rafe. A handful of uniformed officers completed the ensemble, circling the suspect and hiding him from view, something for which he was grateful. He'd dealt with his share of psychos, thank you very much, and he didn't mind at all someone else getting up close and personal with this one.

He watched as Jim stepped a few feet away from the others and lifted his head, turning slightly to face the park. Jim cocked his head and then stilled. Blair recognized the familiar stance that indicated the Sentinel was using his senses to look for something. After a few minutes, the detective's unnatural stillness became obvious and Blair silently cursed stubborn sentinels.

Blair hopped out of the truck and walked calmly over to his partner, trying not to draw undue attention to himself. He grasped Jim's arm and shook it, speaking in a low, compelling tone.

"Chief?" Jim's voice sounded rusty. "What happened?"

"You zoned, man." Blair grasped Jim's arms and held on, swaying slightly. "I couldn't let you stand out here like that. What if one of the guys saw you?"

Jim shook his head vigorously, looking for all the world like a big dog trying to shake off excess water after a bath. "Thanks. You don't seem too steady there yourself, partner." He placed an arm around Blair's shoulders. "Let's get you back to the truck."

"Wait. What were you trying to do?"

"The clothes they found covered in blood were definitely from Marjorie Cavanaugh's murder--his clothes and what was left of hers." He grimaced. "Looks like he really is the perp, so it's possible that he was trying to get rid of all of the evidence, including the knife and the, uh, trophies. I'm trying to see if I can find them."

"Okay, then let's do it, man. You know the drill. Focus on scent, first, Jim. You're betting that the knife is covered in blood, right? Or if the hearts are out there you should be able to sense them. So, block everything out until you find a blood scent." He raised an eyebrow when Jim wrinkled his nose. "What?"

He grimaced. "The clothes are drenched in blood. He stinks of it, too and I can smell the blood that soaked into the trunk of his car." He pointed at a dark BMW sedan in the parking lot with the trunk popped open and guarded by an officer.

Blair kept his voice low and soothing. "All right. You know where he is and where the clothes and the car are, so you can ignore them. Filter 'em out and what's left?"

Jim closed his eyes and tilted his head; a small frown of concentration on his face. His eyes flew open and he turned his head toward the left. "I smell something out there, further into the park."

"Focus, Jim. You should be able to pinpoint the exact location. You know you can do this."

A small smile lit his face and he said in satisfaction, "Got it, Chief. Thanks. It's coming from that small clump of trees." He nudged his chin in the direction he meant.

"Good work, man."

Jim lifted his free hand and beckoned Simon over. "I think I've got it, Sir. There's a strong scent of blood coming from those trees." He pointed at a group of trees 150 yards into the park.

"Thanks, Jim. I'll have Watson and Jones start a sweep search into the park. I'll tell them you thought it might be a likely possibility."

Simon turned away and gave orders to two of the officers present. The Forensics van pulled up while they watched the two men pace off in opposite directions. The officers began their sweep, passing their flashlights over the ground as they walked further into the park. A few minutes later, Watson yelled that he'd found something and Jones and the Forensics Techs hurried to join him. Jim exchanged a meaningful look with Simon and then turned Blair and urged him toward the truck.

Blair climbed into the cab and pushed away the hands that would have fastened the seat belt for him. "I can do that. I'm not incapacitated, Jim."

He backed up a step and held up his hands. "I know, Sandburg. I never said you were. I was just trying to help." He glanced over his shoulder. "Looks like Simon wants something. I'll be right back, Chief, and then we'll go home."

Blair pulled the door shut and watched Jim trot back over to the group still standing in the pool of light. Suddenly, they shifted position and he had a direct view of Terrance Stewart, kneeling on the ground, head bowed. He slowly raised his head until he was staring directly at Blair.

Blair recoiled back in the seat, heart pounding. He raised a hand to his mouth, biting hard on the fleshy part of his thumb to keep from whimpering at the darkness and cruelty smoldering in Stewart's gaze. The wind began to howl wildly and, even though the windows were rolled up, Blair was positive that he could hear his words when Stewart opened his mouth.

_"You allowed me into this world and for that I thank you. We're not finished, you and me. This is just the beginning. You only have yourself to blame. You think you can stop me, but you don't have what it takes. You're no match for me. You should have stayed dead, where you belonged."_

Blair shook his head violently in denial. This was impossible. There was no way that he could have heard the guy say that. He had to be imagining it. Jim shouted and lunged for Stewart, grasping the man's jacket in his fists and pulling him up until they were nose to nose. Jim's face was contorted in rage and he was yelling as he shook the other man as easily as if he were a rag doll. It took the combined efforts of Simon, H. and Rafe to pull him away.

Blair swallowed hard. The only reason for Jim's reaction had to be what Stewart had said to him. And it _was_ directed at him; Blair was sure of it. He blinked as Simon and H. manhandled Jim back over to the truck. He rolled his window down, caught some of what Simon was saying and frowned.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Detective? Want to tell me why you suddenly decided to jump an unarmed, already subdued man? And what was all that shit about staying away from your partner?"

Jim was fighting them, pulling and twisting in their grasp. Blair pushed the truck door open and slid out to stand on unsteady legs. He forced himself forward, each step feeling as though he was wading through molasses. He knew the wind was still howling--he could see the tree branches bending under its force--yet he couldn't hear or feel it. All around him the sounds of the night were muted, as though something had turned down the volume. The closer he came to Jim, the harder it was to move. He struggled to take the last couple of steps and then he reached out a shaking hand to touch his friend's arm, the contact with warm skin electric. Suddenly he could hear clearly and move easily. He staggered into Jim, who automatically caught and held him.

"Chief! What are you doing?" Jim looked down at him in concern. "You should be back in the truck."

"You heard him, didn't you Jim?"

"Yeah, I heard him," he said, his voice grim.

"Nobody else did, though, did they?"

Jim shook his head.

"Heard who?" Simon frowned. "What the hell are you two talking about? Jim goes nuts and attacks our suspect for no reason and you two are talking about conversations that only the two of you can hear?"

Blair and Jim turned as one and looked at Simon, who shook his head.

"Brown, go and help your partner take our suspect back to the Station and book him."

H. gazed at them for a long moment, his face impassive. Then he smiled slightly and said, "Whatever you say, Cap. Jim, you take care of Hairboy here." He turned and walked back to the others, his gate rolling.

Once he was out of earshot, Simon turned to Jim and said sternly, "Take Sandburg home, Jim. I'll finish up here. But make no mistake, Detective. Tomorrow I want some answers. I want to know just what happened here and why."

 

~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~ooo~~~~~~~

 

They arrived home without incident, for which Jim was grateful. Once in the loft, he gave Blair a gentle shove towards the couch and then went into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water out of the refrigerator. Blair was dead asleep by the time he returned, slumped over on his side with his feet still on the floor. Jim shook his head and put the water on the coffee table. He lifted Blair's legs up onto the couch and slipped off his shoes, then he slid a pillow under his head and covered him with the blanket. Through all of that, the kid never woke up.

Jim stood there silently for a while, watching his friend. He couldn't help but worry. It hadn't been that long since the fountain and now this was happening. He hated this mystical shit, needing to see and feel a threat to know how to deal with it. As horrible as it might sound, he'd much prefer to deal with a simple maniac with a knife.

But, this was something more than just a maniac with a knife. And whatever it was, it was affecting Blair. Sure, they'd both heard what Stewart had said, something that apparently no one else had even noticed. Still, Jim had grown used to the occasional supernatural occurrence, though usually it was connected to the appearance of his spirit animal or had to do with his sentinel senses. Other than their merge at the fountain, the supernatural had so far ignored Blair, much to Jim's relief and the kid's disappointment. Until now, that is.

What worried Jim the most were the blank spots in Blair's memory. Why didn't he remember being at the murder scene? Jim didn't believe in coincidence. It all had to be tied in together, but he was damned if he could make out how. He'd dared to hope that after he made his commitment to their partnership in his vision dream that all of this mystical crap would fade away. Yeah, right. That certainly wasn't happening. Something should have changed, though. What was the point of the damn dream if it wasn't going to help them through this crisis?

He shook his head and headed for the stairs, leaving the lights on behind him. Blair was fine on the couch for the night. If he woke up later and wanted to go to bed, he could get there on his own two feet. Jim was just too beat at the moment to deal with fighting to get him awake long enough for him to go to bed. Besides, what was the point? Blair was already asleep.

For once Jim was too tired to worry about folding his clothes neatly and just let them stay on the floor where they fell as he stripped down to his boxers. He barely managed to shove the covers aside and roll onto the bed before his eyes closed and he drifted off.

 

 

Jim smelled the coffee the next morning before he registered that Blair was already up and ready to go. He shook his head as he descended the stairs, not looking forward to the argument he was sure to get when he told Blair that he didn't want him to come to the Station with him. The idea of Blair anywhere near Stewart made his gut twist.

Blair silently handed him a mug of coffee and turned away to stir the scrambled eggs cooking on the stove. Jim judged that if he hurried he had just enough time to take a quick shower before breakfast was ready. He didn't linger under the hot water, much as he would have liked, but washed and rinsed off efficiently. He toweled dry and slipped on his robe just as he heard the toast pop up in the toaster.

He sat down at the kitchen table and Blair slid a plate in front of him. "Looks good, Chief. Thanks."

Blair nodded and sat down across from him. They ate in silence for several minutes and Jim let the silence stretch, unwilling to be the one to disturb it. He smiled to himself when Blair cleared his throat.

"I want to be there when you question Stewart, Jim."

"And I don't want you anywhere near him."

Blair smiled slightly. "Tough. You can't deny that he's part of whatever it is that's going on with me. We need some answers, man."

"Fine. But after what he said last night, I don't want you there during the interrogation. I'll get the answers out of him. Trust me on this one, Chief."

"I do trust you, Jim." Blair sighed. "It's not that. I just...I have the strongest feeling that I need to be there with you. I can't explain it." He squirmed in his chair as if embarrassed.

Jim frowned. He really hated the idea of Blair and Stewart in the same building, let alone in an interrogation room together. And yet, what Blair just said felt right to him, too. Damn.

"All right. You can be there on one condition. I want your word that you'll stay in the observation room unless I say you can come in."

Blair nodded, his eyes bright. "Thanks, man."

"Don't make me regret this, Chief." Even as he said the words, he knew that he already did regret it.

His plan to keep Blair out of the interrogation room crumbled when they got to the Police Station. Stewart agreed to talk without a lawyer, but only if he could tell his story to Blair. As soon as Jim heard the conditions from Simon, he grabbed Blair's arm, intending to drag him out of the building if necessary.

Blair jerked out of his hold. "I'm not going anywhere, Jim, so just back off." He turned to Simon. "Did he say that no one else could be in the room?"

"No. I thought we'd put Brown and Jim in there with you. Look, it's Jim's call." Simon held up a hand to forestall Blair's interruption. "I know you want to do this, Sandburg, but we've got plenty of circumstantial evidence. We don't have to have a confession. If Jim says no, this doesn't happen."

Jim shook his head. As if Blair would accept that ultimatum, he thought ruefully. He knew he was right when Blair objected.

"Maybe a confession isn't technically necessary, Simon, but wouldn't it tie everything up tight? A confession along with the evidence would make it pretty impossible for there to be any way for Stewart to weasel out of this, right?"

Simon's expression was troubled when he turned to Jim. "Jim? It's still your call."

"Yeah. Sure it is, Sir." He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose in an effort to fend off the headache he could feel building. "All right, Chief. We'll play this Stewart's way for now. But if I decide to pull the plug at any point, you don't argue. Got that?"

"Sure, Jim." Blair smiled and nodded. "Whatever you say."

"That'll be the day," Jim muttered as he followed the other two men out of Simon's office.

 

 

Henri Brown waited for them at the door to the interrogation room. He glanced at Simon and said, "Stewart's inside."

"You and Jim are going to be in there with them." Simon looked at Blair, his expression stern. "Stewart seems to have fixated on you for some reason and I don't like it. I don't want you to get near him, you hear me? You can talk to him just as well standing against the far wall as you can if you're sitting at the table."

Blair nodded. "Sure, Simon. Believe me, I don't want to get any closer to him than I have to."

Jim narrowed his eyes and waited until Blair met his gaze. "You ready, Chief?"

At Blair's nod, he opened the door and entered the room, taking up a position in the far corner by the big two-way mirror. He nodded in approval when H. took a similar position in the corner behind Stewart. Blair kept his word and moved to the center of the mirror, leaning back against it in an effort to look casual. Only Jim could tell, by the rapid beating of his heart, that Blair was feeling anything _but_ casual.

"I'm Blair Sandburg, Mr. Stewart. Captain Banks tells me that you've agreed to confess only if you're allowed to tell your story to me." Blair's voice was steady.

"I suppose you could describe it that way." Stewart shrugged.

"So? I'm here. Let's get on with it."

Jim interrupted before Stewart could say anything. "For the record, Mr. Stewart, do you waive your right to have an attorney present?"

Stewart waved a hand in the air as if to brush aside something of little import. "Of course."

Jim nodded at Blair to continue.

Blair shoved his hands in his pockets. "Mr. Stewart, did you kill Marjorie Cavanaugh?"

"Yes, I did." He smiled a polite little smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Don't you want to ask me about the others?"

Blair glanced at Jim and then quickly returned his focus to Stewart. "Uh, yeah. Did you also kill Arthur Jankowski, Jason Webster and Peter Simmons?"

"Yes, I killed all of them."

"How?"

"First I drugged them, then I cut them up. Well, except for Simmons. I didn't drug him, but I did cut him up." Stewart examined the fingernails on his right hand and then folded his hands together on the table. "It was quite fascinating, actually."

Jim could hear Blair's heartbeat increase slightly and he frowned. It was already too fast when they'd entered the room. Much more and he'd call a halt to the interview, complete confession or not.

Blair swallowed hard. "Fascinating?"

"I didn't know there would be so much blood." Stewart's gaze rested on Blair. "I liked it."

"Why did you cut out their hearts? Was it part of some sort of ritual?"

"Popular sentiment believes that the heart is the repository of emotions. I wanted to see if I could find them." He shook his head, a rueful expression on his face. "It's all a lie, you know. Once I realized that they were just pieces of meat after all, I knew that I didn't need them anymore."

"Is that why you discarded the hearts at the park?"

Stewart nodded. "The park was the perfect place. Wild animals would make sure that they would never be found."

"Why did you kill them?"

"Love."

Blair frowned. "Love? You're saying that you killed four people out of love?"

Stewart leaned back in his chair, an indulgent expression on his face. "Love and hate. Two sides of the same coin, isn't that what they say? I loved Marjorie. She was everything to me. I even gave her the money so that she could buy that house. That was my mistake, you see."

"Mistake?"

"She always wanted more. When she told me that Simmons was just helping her find a good deal on a house and that's why she was seeing so much of him, I didn't think anything of it. Until she showed up late one night for our date."

"Date? What did your wife think of you dating another woman?"

Stewart snorted. "She didn't know anything about Marjorie. I told her I was working late and she accepted it. She always accepted it."

Blair nodded. "All right. You said Marjorie showed up late for your date."

"She'd never done that before and all she could talk about was Pete showed her this house and Pete took her to see that house." He shrugged. "I was jealous. So, I followed her after work the next night when she went to meet _Pete_. He took her to a couple of houses and then they went out to dinner."

"So that's why you killed Simmons? Because Marjorie was cheating on you with him?" Blair raised his eyebrows.

"I thought it would be over when she found the house, but it wasn't. I was furious. It was all his fault. I didn't plan to kill him. I just thought I'd talk to him. Warn him away from Marjorie. He laughed at me." Stewart clenched his fists and thumped the table. He glared at Blair. "Something snapped and I could feel this darkness grow inside me. The next thing I knew I was standing over him, holding a knife in one hand and his heart in the other."

Jim glanced at Blair and frowned at how pale he looked. He watched him swallow heavily and was about to suggest they take a break, when Blair spoke.

"And the others?"

"Marjorie couldn't help herself. I understand that now. In the end, I realized that I didn't love or hate her, but I was grateful to her for helping me set the darkness free inside me. She deserved to feel its power."

"What about the darkness?" Blair crossed his arms over his chest.

"That's the question you've wanted to ask all along, isn't it?" A corner of Stewart's mouth turned up in a sardonic smile. "But then, you already know the answer, don't you?" There was an odd tone to Stewart's voice, similar to what Jim had heard the previous night when the man threatened Blair.

"What do you want?" Jim could hear the controlled fear in Blair's voice.

"What don't I want?"

"Not much of an answer."

Stewart cocked his head. "Maybe not. What about you? What do you want?"

Blair shook his head. "Me? Hey, all I want is to be done with this."

Stewart smiled, sending shards of ice into Jim's soul. "Are you ready to go back?" His voice changed further and the atmosphere in the room took on an odd, charged quality.

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean. You brought me to this world. You don't belong here any more than I do. The only way to send me back is to return with me. Are you really ready for this to be over?" His gaze raked Blair from top to bottom and he sneered. "No, I didn't think so."

Jim could see the minute tremors that ran through Blair's body. His eyes narrowed and the hair on the back of his neck rose as Blair took a step away from the wall, a step closer to the table. Something was very wrong. He opened up his vision and gasped at the violent colors writhing and pulsing in the air around Stewart. The only other time he'd experienced anything like that was at Marjorie Cavanaugh's murder scene.

Brown remained in his corner of the room, seemingly oblivious to what was taking place in front of him. Jim blinked as he realized that Blair was already halfway to the table, an odd, dreamy expression on his face. Stewart rose and stretched out his hand as if to welcome him.

"Shit." Jim pushed away from his corner and lunged for Blair. "Chief!"

Blair stopped where he was and blinked rapidly. "Jim?" He glanced at the wall behind him and then down at his feet. His eyes widened. "How'd I get here?"

Jim closed the distance to his partner. "I know what it wants now." He glared at Stewart. "And it can't have you."

"What are you talking about, man?" Blair swayed slightly.

Jim placed his arm around Blair's shoulder, pulling him in close to his side. He could feel the connection vibrating between them, as if it were something tangible and alive. With a sudden clarity, Jim knew what needed to be done.

"I think you were right, Chief, about where this thing came from. And I think it needs you in order to stay here." Jim smiled at Blair and saw the dawning understanding on his face. He briefly wondered if the kid would remember any of this later. "Together, we're stronger than it is."

"Can you see it?" Blair gazed at Stewart and frowned. "'Cause I can't."

Jim followed his gaze and recognized the darkness inside the man. It seemed so clear to him that it amazed him that he hadn't been able to see it before. "Don't worry. I can see it well enough for both of us. Trust me, Chief."

"Of course."

"Then we do this together?"

Blair smiled up at him. "Always, man."

They stepped forward in unison and grabbed Stewart's arm before he could stumble out of the way. They both felt a strong jolt, but maintained their hold on each other as well as on Stewart. Jim watched in fascination as the writhing colors surrounding Stewart were calmed and swallowed by a soft white light that seemed to flow from Blair and him. An impossible wind howled through the room for a split second and then shut off again with a loud shriek. Stewart collapsed into the chair, sobbing brokenly as they released him and stepped back. Jim nodded in satisfaction when he noted that the colors he'd seen, as well as the white light, were gone.

Simon rushed into the room. "What the hell just happened in here?"

Brown shrugged and shook his head. "Stewart must have got a little emotional there at the end of his confession, Sir. I guess Jim and Blair were just making sure he stayed in his chair."

Simon narrowed his eyes and glared at Jim. "Well? Is that what happened?"

"Sure, Simon." Jim was surprised at how tired he suddenly felt.

Stewart was still sobbing and babbling about having been deserted by the darkness. Simon gestured for Brown to take him out of the room and then he crossed his arms and turned back to Jim and Blair.

"Something else happened in here, didn't it? Something related to the...." His voice trailed off and he waved a hand in the air.

"Yeah." Jim tilted his head. "You didn't see anything weird?"

Simon rubbed his neck. "If anyone else asks, I'll deny it, but for a moment there, I could almost swear that the two of you glowed."

Blair smiled tiredly. "Really? Cool. I wonder if we can do that again?"

Jim shuddered. "Let's not, okay Chief? What do you say we go home instead?"

"Sounds like a plan to me. Think we could get away with sleeping for a week?"

"Whaddaya say, Sir?" Jim looked at Simon hopefully.

He raised his hands. "Go on, get out of here. Just be sure to come in tomorrow and write up your report."

Jim nodded his thanks and ushered Blair out the door before Simon could change his mind.


	6. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "There are two ways of spreading light: to be the candle or the mirror that reflects it." -- Edith Wharton

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted May 2003

Several days later, the three men discussed the case over coffee in Simon's office. It was the first time that Blair had returned to the Station since the interrogation of Terrance Stewart. Jim had completed the report on his own, taking it home to get Blair's signature.

"So the court ordered Stewart to have a psychiatric evaluation?" Blair asked.

Simon nodded. "He's been babbling about being swallowed by the darkness and how it controlled him pretty much nonstop since his confession. The D.A. figures that they'll end up assigning him to a psychiatric hospital for the criminally insane."

"Four people are dead because of his twisted love for his secretary." Jim shook his head.

Simon tapped a pencil on his desk for a few moments as he studied the two men seated before him. "Speaking of twisted, are you ever going to explain just what happened in there at the end?"

Jim raised an eyebrow. "Sure you can handle it, Simon?"

He narrowed his eyes and nodded. "Out with it, Detective."

"Yes, Sir." Jim smiled slightly. "I've already told you about our spirit animals and how I did what I did at the fountain. Well, the best explanation that we can come up with is that something...bad...followed us back from wherever it was that I found Blair's wolf."

"Something bad? You mean the darkness that Stewart can't seem to shut up about?"

"Yeah, Simon." Blair ran a hand back through his hair. "I started having nightmares a few days before Marjorie Cavanaugh's murder. I was terrified of shadows--I thought they were trying to touch me, swallow me up or something. I don't really remember much about it, to tell you the truth, but Jim told me what happened."

"I think that this shadow or darkness or whatever was tied to Blair. Don't ask me how. I just came up with this theory based on what happened." Jim shrugged.

"Okay, I get it so far. What does it have to do with Stewart?"

"I'm guessing that this thing found Stewart and that it was able to get inside him somehow. Maybe it was Stewart's anger and hatred that allowed it to happen. I don't know. Anyway, I'd guess that once inside that it found it could influence how he behaved. Maybe it even controlled him. We'll never know for sure."

Simon sipped his coffee and then stared into the bottom of his mug. "What did it want with Sandburg?"

"Like I said, I think it was tied to him somehow. Maybe it couldn't remain here permanently without him, or maybe it just wanted to possess him. I can't answer that. All I know is that when Blair started to walk towards Stewart while we were in the interrogation room I just knew that I couldn't let them connect. Somehow I knew that the two of us were stronger than it was and that we had to face it together."

"And you did." Simon frowned. "So, it's gone, right? You sent it back to wherever it came from?"

"God, Simon, I wish I knew." Jim sighed. "I hope so. I know it's gone from Stewart and I know that it didn't want to go. Beyond that? Your guess is as good as mine."

Simon shook his head. "You know that the recording of his confession ended before all of the weird stuff went down? There are several minutes of static on the tape after Stewart said that Cavanaugh set the darkness free inside him."

Jim grimaced. "No, I didn't know, but I'm not surprised. Does it matter? It's not like we're looking for corroboration for what happened, after all."

Simon gazed at Blair. "What about you, Sandburg? You've been pretty quiet while Jim's explained all of this."

Blair glanced down at his hands and then met Simon's gaze. "To tell you the truth, Simon, most of the last week or so is kinda hazy. It's like my memory of what happened is fading. I could mostly remember it while Jim was talking about it, but ask me by myself in a couple of days and I'll probably want to know if you're feeling all right."

Simon turned to Jim. "Are you okay with that?"

He shrugged. "It's how it is, Simon. Whether I'm okay with it or not, it seems that Blair isn't meant to remember his brush with the mystical side of the Sentinel stuff." He glanced at Blair and smiled. "Maybe it's just as well. Can you imagine the tests he'd come up with otherwise?"

Simon shook his head. "I don't even want to think about it."

Jim grinned. "Kid'd probably try to turn me into one of those Ghost Busters, or something."

"Ghosts?" Blair sat up a bit straighter. "Hey, why didn't I think of that? Maybe I could borrow some equipment from the psych lab and we could check out some of the places around Cascade that are rumored to be haunted. What do you think, Jim?"

Simon snorted. "Who ya gonna call?"

Jim leaned his forehead into his hand and groaned theatrically while Simon let loose with a belly laugh and Blair grinned.

"Don't even think about it, Junior!"


End file.
